


In the Eye of the Beholder

by HobbitSpaceCase



Series: Sweetheart Prequels [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fisting, Gangbang, Gaslighting, HYDRA Trash Party, Knifeplay, M/M, Pierce is the worst, Victim-blaming, improper use of stun batons, noncon, young Pierce being the creepiest of creeps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:30:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4297791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HobbitSpaceCase/pseuds/HobbitSpaceCase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hydra Trash Party fill.</p>
<p>Alexander Pierce has finally worked his way high enough in Hydra to Handle the Winter Soldier.  When the Soldier speaks out of turn after a flawless mission, he decides there's not better way to assert complete control than by "rewarding" the Soldier with a violent gangbang by a random Strike team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wanting

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the first in a series of to my series Sweetheart, You'll Never be Alright, covering various trashy horrible things the Hydra agents did to him while he was the Winter Soldier. They're not totally necessary to understanding the later, post-WS stories, so if explicit violent noncon with no attempt at comfort isn't your thing, skipping the prequels is fine.
> 
> Full text of the prompt is at the end.

There is a new Handler. He is tall and blond with piercing blue eyes. The Asset thinks he should be smaller and that the eyes are far too cold, but he is not sure why. Things are only supposed to be as they are.

The new Handler gives him a mission that he performs flawlessly, as usual. He is the perfect weapon. He does not fail, and the Handler is pleased with his performance.

“You did good work out there, Soldier,” the Handler says. He feels a strange warmth in his core at the words.

“Thanks, punk, anything for you,” the Asset says, and there is a strange drawl to the words, a tone that his mind labels _sarcastic_ , but they feel right in his mouth. They must be a part of the programing for the new Handler.

The Handler watches him for a moment, and his face is as blank as the Asset’s. He remembers that this face should not be blank, but that cannot be right. The Asset does not remember anything except what he is told.

“You know what,” the Handler says, with a sudden smile that does not reach his blue eyes. “I think you deserve a reward after such a job well done.” He claps the Asset on the shoulder, and his smile reminds the Asset of his favorite knife, the small, black handled one with which he had slit the target’s throat on this mission. The Asset has received rewards before. Usually it is some sort of food that makes his mouth explode with tastes and sensations entirely lacking in the usual carefully calibrated nutrition drinks that carry him through his time outside of cryo.

He holds his hand out for his reward, but the Handler merely looks at it and chuckles. There is something sharp in the sound to match the knife-smile that is still on his face.

“Not here,” the Handler says. The Asset does not understand, but follows his handler out of the room where he was debriefed. He is not made to ask questions.

Still, he cannot help the confusion that rises as they approach the room where he is cleaned after missions. It is a large, tiled room with hoses on the walls and a drain in the center of the floor. Perhaps he must be cleaned again before he can receive his reward.

The Handler instructs him to stand in the center of the room and wait. He does as he is told. The room is still warm and humid from his earlier cleaning, and his boots slide a bit in the water on the floor as he walks to the center. When the Handler returns to the room, he is trailed by one of the older Strike teams. They all scowl at the Asset as they enter the room, and a small, defiant voice in the back of his head thinks, _That’s not fair._ He is going to be rewarded. They should not look at him as though he has displeased them. He turns his attention back to the Handler, who is still smiling.

“Undress him,” the Handler says, and it is not until the hands are upon him, undoing straps and buckles and pulling off the clothes he was redressed in post mission that he understands the words. Paradoxically, understanding only heightens his confusion. He is not supposed to ask questions, he is only supposed to do as he is told, but he wants his reward and he does not like what is happening. Rewards are supposed to be nice.

He stares at the Handler, pulling his limbs closer to his body to hinder the removal of his clothes. The Handler steps up and puts a finger under his chin, holding eye contact with those calm, blue eyes (they are never calm, always so full of fire and passion, but that clearly isn’t right).

The Handler speaks to him, keeping eye contact the whole time. There is a squirmy feeling in his stomach, but he ignores it. “Don’t worry, darling,” the Handler is saying. “This is your reward. I know how much you’ve been wanting this, and I’ve instructed these men that they’re to give you everything you’ve been desperate for. I’ve ensured they’ll be perfectly understanding at the sight of you. There’s no need to be ashamed of the ugliness of your body. They only want you to feel good.”

The Asset does not understand half of these words, like _wanting_ and _desire_ , but Handlers are always right. This one is new, but he speaks with the confidence befitting those whom Hydra trusts to handle the Winter Soldier, their most prized weapon. He must be right. The Asset allows his limbs to go loose, picks up his feet so that the men can remove his shoes and pants, and wonders if _wanting_ includes the shiver in his legs he cannot entirely suppress as hands brush between them to remove his underwear, or the way two sensitive points of flesh harden on his chest when separate hands scrape lightly over them. The Handler has moved away, but he is still watching the Asset through blue eyes and smiling. Is it wanting, the way those eyes make him feel like he is stripped of more than his clothing?

The men stand back once he is fully naked, until the Handler says, “Put him on his knees the way he likes. He loves using his mouth. I know he’s not pretty, but remember this is for his pleasure, not yours.” The men force him to the floor, and he goes because the Handler has said he likes this, and this is his reward. When the men around him begin unbuckling their own belts and pulling out hard, swollen flesh around him, he cannot help but flinch away. Of course the Handler notices.

“Put your hands in his hair,” the Handler says. “He wants to be touched, likes being pulled into it. I know how distasteful you all are finding this, but the poor dear needs some contact besides your cocks in his greedy, begging holes.” A hand tangles in his hair and yanks his head forward towards one of the largest cocks. A half buried instinct has him opening his mouth and guarding his teeth with his lips.

“Fuck, he really is gagging for it,” says a voice from above him. He cannot determine which man the voice came from, can hardly focus on anything but the hard flesh sliding into his mouth and the blue eyes still watching him. He does want this. The Handler said so, and the men agreed. They are being kind to him, even though he is not pretty. He does not know why he should want to be pretty, why the sudden knowledge of the hard, scarred planes of his body should strike him as bad when this body has always served him well in his missions, has been a _good_ weapon, but it seems there is another use for it. A use he has _been wanting_ that no one would give him till now, at the request of his Handler, because he is ugly in this.

The flesh in his mouth pushes back until he chokes on it.

Saliva floods his mouth, making it easier for the hard length of the man’s cock to slide out and back in, pushing all the way to the back of his throat. Is it wanting, when he whines through his nose and swallows convulsively around the cock shoving down his throat, dragging a groan from the man above him?

“Jackson,” the Handler says in a sharp voice, cutting off the noises still spilling from the man who’s cock keeps sliding in and out of his mouth. “There’s no need to be so vocal in your disgust. I instructed you to reward the Asset, not to let him know how frustrated you are by the task.”

The Asset has heard noises like that before, on long missions where everyone had to share a single tent or cabin room. He knows that sometimes, teams are frightened to work with him, and has enjoyed the power of that knowledge. It makes something cold coil around his guts to realize that apparently some of the men have been repulsed rather than frightened at sharing quarters with their weapon.

The man above him grabs his face and increases the pace of his thrusts. The Asset closes his eyes when something warm and bitter suddenly floods his mouth. He tilts his head to spit it out, but the hands stop him. “It is ok to swallow it,” the Handler says. “I know how much you love the taste.” His chest feels tight and it takes two attempts, but he manages to swallow the bitter liquid. He cannot spit out his reward.

He also cannot help the shameful lightness that blossoms in him once he has succeeded. He is grateful for his reward, but surely it is over now.

He goes to rise, but is stopped by the press of hands against his shoulders. When he opens his eyes, he is surprised to see the Handler has approached him again. There is so much sensation on his skin, so many booted feet moving around him, that he had not noticed the Handler’s soft approach. One gentle hand reaches out to stroke his cheek, and the Handler asks, “Did you enjoy that, my pet?” He nods, as is expected of him, head tilted up towards his Handler from where he kneels at the man’s feet. “You see what these men are willing to do for you? What I am willing to make them do, just for you? You see what happens when you are good?” His tongue flicks out to wet his lips without a conscious decision, and the Handler’s smile widens to show the white gleam of teeth.

“Since you enjoyed that so much, I’ve decided to let you have more,” the Handler says. He pulls on the Asset’s jaw, tugging until the Asset falls forward and braces himself on his hands and knees. The Handler crouches down to eye level and his words go soft, like he’s telling the Asset a secret, letting him in on something remarkable. “You’re going to have so much fun, sweetheart,” the Handler says, before he closes the distance between them and kisses the Asset. His mouth is soft and wet, and his tongue darts once into the Assets mouth, sliding along the Asset’s tongue and tasting the bitterness that still lingers, before he is standing and moving away once more. The Asset’s eyes remain locked on him as many hands take over touching his body.

He wants this. This must be wanting.

He doesn’t know why he thinks the kiss tasted wrong.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When the first burning stretch occurs at the base of his spine between his legs, he cries out and bites down on the next cock that has been shoved between his lips.

The man above him screams and curses.

“Shit! You fucking ugly little bitch!”

There is laughter from the others and the taste of blood on his front teeth. A booted foot adds more blood to his teeth, and he reels back, impaling himself fully on the fingers that caused his mistake. He squeals with the shock of it and tries to twist away, but there are hands on his hips and in his hair and the Handler’s voice commanding, “Stop!”

He is panting and stretched open and it hurts, but he freezes, trembling slightly and still rocked back against the fingers. This is his reward. He wants this. “Please,” he says, though he is not sure what he is asking for.

The Handler’s voice is soft and disappointed when he speaks again.

“If you bite your reward,” the Handler says, “I will have to take it away from you. I know this much pleasure can be overwhelming, but you must be nice to these men. They are being very kind to give you so much, and you just did something very bad. Do you want them to have to stop?”

The Asset squirms around the intrusion that has not left him yet. It has, in fact, started to feel almost nice as his body adjusts to it, just as the Handler has been telling him. Obviously the Handler knows what he will like even when he does not remember. One long finger presses into a spot inside him that makes his mouth open wide on a long, whimpering exhalation. There is the sound of snickering laughter again, and he thinks they must be laughing at him, because he is going to lose his reward for being bad.

“No,” he says, voice trailing off into a breathy, “oooh,” as the finger inside him probes once more at the same spot. He thinks that perhaps he has underestimated this reward.

“No what?” the Handler asks, and he swallows down another moan to find the words he needs to keep his reward.

“No, please don’t take it away. I want it. I’ll be good. Please let me be good.” He pushes back purposefully onto the fingers behind him, and they withdraw without warning. A whine escapes at the loss. “Please let me be good,” he says again. “Please, I can be good.”

“I think we should kick him in the face again,” one of the men says, and there is scorn in his voice. “Clearly he doesn’t know how to properly appreciate our efforts.” Then the room is filled with the complaints of the other men as they add their own opinions to the mix.

“Look at what a mess he is. He clearly can’t control himself. He may be good in the field, but I don’t see why that means _we_ have cater to his sick fantasies.”

“It was hard enough getting it up for ‘im to suck me off before there was the threat of getting bit. Now I don’t even know if I _can_ give ‘im what he wants.”

“You saw he desperate and needy he got over just a few fingers from Becker. How’s he supposed to control himself if we let him take all our cocks in that ugly ass of his?”

The Handler lets the men continue in this vein for a minute, watching each of them calmly. Finally, his gaze turns back to the Asset, and his quiet voice cuts through the complaints like a knife.

“Do you promise to be good for the rest of your reward?” he asks, and the Asset nods as hard as he can, rocking forwards on his arms.

“Yes sir, I promise! Please.”

“Then you should really be apologizing to these men kind enough to give you what you want.”

The Asset turns towards the man who is still clutching the bloody space between his legs. “Please don’t leave,” he begs. The man spits on him, and the Handler tuts.

“He likes it better if you get it in his mouth,” the Handler says. Then he turns to the Asset and his voice turns sweet, like the rewards the Asset has gotten in the past. “Open your mouth wide and keep your teeth out of the way, darling, and you can keep your nice reward.”

The Asset complies, and the next glob of spit lands on his tongue.

 

 

* * *

 

 

For the next few minutes, the Asset allows himself to get lost in sensation, as another man shoves into his mouth and fingers push back inside his hole. Perhaps it was made for this kind of reward; now that he expects it, the probing fingers send sparks of pleasure down his spine with each thrust. He rocks between the two men at either end, but keeps his eyes locked on the Handler. These men are not the ones he owes his pleasure to. They would never touch him if not for the Handler being so kind.

He thinks he is starting to understand why he was brought to his cleaning room for his reward. He is dirty, gross and unpleasant, but he did _good_ and the Handler will reward him for doing good.

He hums with pleasure at the thought, and the man in his mouth stiffens and groans. Another wash of bitter liquid coats his tongue, but this man pulls out before he finishes emptying himself, spraying the rest on the Asset’s face.

“God, that’s fucking filthy,” someone else says, and the Handler gives him a disapproving look.

“Just for that, Anders, I want you to go next and spread it over his face with your cock before you let him get his mouth on you.”

“That’s gross, I don’t want to do that!” the same man, Anders, says. There is a peculiar quality to the words that reminds the Asset of laughter and eagerness in contrast to the words, but his attention is still fixed on his Handler.

“This is not about what you want,” the Handler is saying. He gives the Asset a kind smile. “It is quite revolting, I understand, but he just loves it so much.”

Anders steps through the Asset’s sight line, momentarily blocking his view of the Handler, and then there is another cock smearing the previous man’s sticky white come across his face. A bit of it gets in the Asset’s left eye, and he closes it against a bite of pain, before forcing it open again.

He must be a good boy. He doesn’t want to lose his reward.

When Anders shoves his cock, sticky with come, in the Asset’s mouth, he feels the fingers withdraw simultaneously from behind him. He whines around the cock in his mouth, and an incredulous voice to his side remarks, “Shit, look how open and eager he is already. God, I bet after we’re done, he’ll be dripping worse than a girl. That’s so fuckin’ nasty.” The voice is thick with disdain, and the Asset worries for a moment that his reward is going to be taken away, that he is too dirty for them to continue.

Then a slick hand grips his hip, and something blunt and hard shoves all the way inside of him. He can’t help the wet, punched out, “Oh!” that huffs past the hard flesh in his mouth as sharp hipbones collide with his ass and grind against him, before drawing out to repeat the motion. The new intrusion is so much thicker than the fingers, and it hurts as it stretches him. That’s not fair. He wants it to feel good again.

As though reading his mind, his Handler speaks up again. “Make sure you fuck him really hard. He’s enjoying himself so much, already. Don’t let him down, no matter how much you don’t want to touch him.”

The force of the thrusts increases, driving the Asset forward with each one. He chokes on spit and heavy flesh when the thrusts also drive Anders’s cock further down his throat, and Anders grunts when he comes, fucking shallowly into the Asset’s mouth until he is entirely spent and forcing some of the come to dribble from the sides of the Asset’s full mouth.

Anders wipes a finger along one corner of his mouth, pushing some of the come back into his mouth. “You like that, you dirty little freak?” Anders asks, sneering from his position above the Asset.

The Asset looks to his Handler, who nods once. “Yes,” he says, and his voice comes out hoarse. “Yes, please.”

Anders grimaces and wipes the rest of his hand in the Asset’s hair. From the Handler’s smile, he thinks this must be another thing he likes.

The next man who approaches has a blade in his hand.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The blade burns as it is dragged across the skin above his eye, down his flesh shoulder, along the knobs of his spine. He wants desperately to grit his teeth against the pain, but there is another man at his mouth and he does not want to be bad again.

He likes this.

The Handler is saying so as he directs the placement of every cut to maximize the Asset’s pleasure.

He _likes_ this.

He does not hear the order through the sound of his own choking breaths, but he does notice when the man in his mouth draws away and replaces his cock with the knife. “Didn’t you hear, slut? I’m supposed to let you lick the blood off, but I can take away if you’re getting tired of your reward. I know I was tired of it the moment I walked into this room.” The Asset closes his teeth on the blade so fast that one of his top teeth cracks. He is more careful when he licks along the blade, tasting blood and metal. His tooth will heal, but if they take away his reward he might not get another.

“Make sure you turn the blade so he can get both sides,” the Handler says.

He opens his mouth obediently to allow the knife space to rotate, but it still slices into his tongue and the roof of his mouth as it is turned. The next time he licks, he is certain he must be smearing more blood on it. The man with the knife is kind, though, and wipes it off against the Asset’s lips when he pulls it from his mouth. He hands the knife off to another, and places his hands on the Asset’s face, letting his left thumb stroke over the cut above his eye. He smears the blood almost gently, and sneers. “I remember how much you like to be touched.”

“Yes,” the Asset says, and then holds his mouth open as he is pulled back between the man’s legs.

Pain sears through his mouth as the man’s cock pushes roughly over the newest cuts. He pants as adrenaline floods through him and instinctively tries to pull away, only to be brought up short by the Handler’s voice. “He is so very fond of rough treatment after being made to bleed. I know how much you don’t want to, but do try to rub against the cuts as much as possible before they heal over. He heals very fast, so he will appreciate a bit of roughness to make it last.”

Right, he likes this. This is a part of the reward. He is usually only cut up on missions, but there is a certain sense of power and pride he gets from ignoring the pain and taking out anyone who manages to touch him. He likes the knowledge that any wounds he receives will never slow him down or stop him, because he is the best weapon that Hydra has ever had, he is the _Winter Soldier_ , and wounds mean nothing to a weapon. No one touched him on this mission, because he performed even more flawlessly than usual.

That’s why he deserved this reward.

Wetness drips from his eyes as the man thrusts harshly against his tongue. The man behind him scrapes blunt nails down the marks along his spine, digging in harder when he cannot help but whine through his nose. He can feel that his back has become covered in his own sticky blood.

He shudders beneath the hands and the thrusts that rock him back and forth between the pain in his mouth and back and the not-quite-pleasure at the base of his spine.

“Now, I have a special treat for you,” the Handler says, and it takes the Asset a moment to notice the words were directed at him. “Agent Moore is so dedicated to Hydra that he has agreed to touch your cock. He’s so good, he’ll even use your blood to slick the way.”

The hands on his back run once more through his blood, digging the cuts further open before running across them open-palmed. “Sure,” says the voice of Agent Moore behind him. “I’ll get my hands all messy with your gross slutty blood and jerk you off.” The hands slide down around his hips and close on the swollen flesh between his own legs. “But you better be damn grateful.” Agent Moore punctuates the final words with a vicious twist of his hands, and the Asset would have screamed if the man in front of him had not chosen that moment to spill himself all over the Asset’s torn up tongue and down his throat.

Cold spikes shoot through the Asset’s chest as his blood pools low in his gut in response to the hand between his legs. He must swallow what he’s been given, but his throat closes up against the mixture of blood and spit and semen.

“Jesus,” someone says beside him. “He really is enjoying this, the dirty bastard.”

Shame like the feel of a failed mission crawls up his throat, but he must force it down. He _must_ swallow. His heart is beating too quickly against his ribs and his stomach feels heavy and his reward is trickling from swollen lips. The man behind him changes the angle of his thrusts and twists his hand again, and suddenly the Asset is opening his mouth wide, letting his reward splatter on the ground in front of him while something white and blinding occurs in his head and his own come stripes the ground beneath him.

“Oh, that’s gross!” someone says.

When he has blinked the lights from his eyes, he sees that the Handler has moved sideways from his position on the wall. The reason becomes apparent when the Asset scans the floor and realizes that a few pale pink drops of bloody, semen-coated saliva litter the floor near where the Handler had previously stood.

A hand grips his hair and drags his head back up. The Handler is watching him still, smiling at him still. “Darling, do try to keep yourself in check at least a little bit,” the Handler says “I know this is your reward and you _should_ be enjoying yourself, but these men are only human and if you let yourself be too repulsive, they may not be able to continue.”

His gaze moves from the Handler’s mouth to the fierce blue of the Handler’s eyes. A flash of anger ignites flames in the blue before being swiftly quenched, but not swiftly enough. A name has drifted up from the dark corners of his mind. He knows this Handler. This Handler _cares_ about him.

The knowledge calms the rushing chaos inside him. The Handler will see this reward through to the end, even though the Asset is ugly and unpleasant and was bad again. This Handler does not back down from ugly things.

A voice in his head that sounds like his Handler but nothing like the Handler at all says, _I could do this all day._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The pain of the cuts slowly dims as they begin to heal over. The lacerations to his tongue take the longest to scab over, constantly reopened as they are by the rough slide of cocks in his mouth, but even they begin to bleed less and less as the reward continues.

The gradual cessation of pain allows for an increased awareness of the pleasurable pressure building again between his legs. The man currently behind him hits the nice spot inside him less than the previous one, but he still strikes it occasionally. Each touch to that place sends blood rushing down and drags panting whines from his mouth. The contrast between his healing wounds and that pleasure is astonishing. He begins to appreciate once more how well the Handler must know him to have given him this, and rocks himself more deliberately with the thrusts.

The man behind him comes buried deep inside him. When he pulls out, the Asset can feel slick wetness dripping from his hole and down between his legs. It feels nice, warm and slippery against his skin. He twitches, eager for the next one. There is snickering laughter behind him, but that is ok. The Handler will take care of him, will make sure they continue. The Handler is still smiling at him.

“Sweetheart,” the Handler says, “You’ve just about taken all of them already.” The Asset tilts his head in confusion, keeping his teeth away from the cock in his mouth. A rough hand forces his head back upright, then is wiped off down his metal shoulder with a murmured, “Fuck, that’s gross.” The man is likely talking about the mixture of blood and come that still coats the Asset’s face, but the Asset only has eyes for his Handler.

“Do you want more, pet?” the Handler asks. The Asset cannot nod or speak with the cock in his mouth, but he whines hopefully. “Well then,” the Handler says, smiling a soft, cold smile, “You’ve been doing so well. I think I can let you have a little bit more.”

“Anders,” he says sharply, and one of the men starts from his spot against the wall. He was scowling at the Asset, watching everything, but now he is watching the Handler too. The Asset thinks he looks familiar enough that he must have been one of the men to allow the Asset to use his mouth on the man’s cock.

“Sir?” Anders says. He sounds petulant, and another scowling face flashes through his mind. The image is incorrect, unreliable. The Handler has never been something as crude and childish as petulant. He will have to be wiped thoroughly after this. As long as he gets to keep this Handler, that is ok.

The Handler is instructing Anders, so the Asset does his best to pay attention to the next part of his reward. “I want you to try and fit your whole fist inside him,” the Handler is saying. “I know how entirely unpleasant he is to touch, and this will require quite a lot of touching. Still, he’s being so good for us now that he’s stopped with the biting and learned to swallow.”

The Asset is uncertain how a fist will fit inside him. He is almost entirely sure that it will not fit in his mouth, and that leaves only one other hole. It has stretched out a lot since the beginning of his reward, but a fist is much larger than the largest of the cocks he has taken so far. It will probably hurt, but he wants it.

Anders stalks around behind him, and he twitches impatiently. He is ready to continue his reward.

The first few fingers slide in easily right to the base, accompanied by jeers of disgust from the watching Agents. When the third finger slides in with no resistance, the man in his mouth pulls out and comes in the Asset’s eyes. It is so unexpected that the Asset howls and clenches his eyes shut. He tries to duck his head down to wipe it against his shoulder, but his shoulder is still covered in drying blood and only grinds the come into his face. He doesn’t realize where else he has clenched down until the forth finger begins to push inside him, and it burns. The three fingers already inside him are squeezed tightly together, and the fourth scrapes against his rim when it enters him. All four fingers crook and scissor inside him, and he feels his flesh tear at the pressure. He whimpers and bites down on his shoulder, tasting his own blood.

“You’re doing very good,” the Handler says, his voice cutting through the fog of pain. The Asset cannot see him. He misses the Handler’s eyes.

“He’s enjoying that a lot,” the Handler continues. “Flint, turn his head so he can watch. Can’t you see how hard he’s trying to look?”

Hands tangle in his hair and twist his head around. The angle is painful, almost like someone is trying to snap his neck but can’t quite twist far enough. “If I’m going to go to the trouble of helping you watch, the least you could do is open your eyes,” a voice snarls above him, and he remembers that he is supposed to be watching this part of his reward. Apparently he likes to watch this part.

His eyes still sting and burn when he opens them, and his vision swims like he’s underwater. It takes several blinks before his sight resolves beyond shadows.

Anders is crouched behind him, pushing in and out of his hole with four fingers. He cannot see well because of the angle, but he can imagine how streaked the fingers must be with semen and blood as they fuck him. Anders looks up and catches his eye, grinning like a shark when he gives a twist to his wrist that has the Asset’s back arching and a gasp spilling out of him. Anders has dull green eyes that make the Asset wish for the Handler’s bright blue, and he has dark, close cropped hair.

He looks nothing like a shark. The Asset has never seen a shark.

Still holding the Asset’s eyes, Anders curls his thumb in close to his palm and shoves his whole hand inside the Asset. The pain is remarkable. It hurts enough that the flesh between his legs has softened entirely and gone limp. As the hand pushes further into him, his cock feels almost like it’s trying to retreat into his body as well. This does not feel good again. He wants it to feel good again. The Handler _said_ it would feel good. His eyes hurt, his scalp hurts where several strands of hair were wrenched out by his spasm, and most of all he _burns_ between his legs.

It’s supposed to feel nice.

The Handler’s voice cuts through the fire like ice. “Anders, quit glaring at him and try to make a fist already. I know you’re not enjoying this, but it’s not for you. It is for him.” The Asset is grateful to the Handler. He wants this to feel nice.

When Anders curls his fingers towards his palm, the Asset rips an entire chunk of hair out of his head by throwing it back out of the grip in his hair. He screams, and his flesh arm nearly gives way beneath him. Luckily, his left arm is stronger than he is, and it holds him up.

“You’re enjoying that, aren’t you?” the Handler asks, but the Asset knows it is not a question. The tone of the Handler’s voice makes it clear that he is enjoying this now. Still, it takes a few ragged breaths before he can answer.

“Ye-es,” he says, swallowing down more screams as the new-formed fist draws out and then slams back into him. He manages to unclench his teeth enough to say, “Yes, please, I like it!”

“Good,” the Handler says. “I wouldn’t want you to be unhappy with your reward, when these nice men are working so hard to put aside their disgust to please you. But if you don’t want to look, I won’t make Flint touch you again.”

The Asset cannot lose his reward. The Handler speaks kindly, but he would be disappointed if the Asset backed down from something. He would never want to disappoint this Handler.

He bucks his head into the hand that is still holding pieces of his hair, and the man snorts before grabbing him and turning him back to watch the rest of his reward. He will watch this, and he will enjoy it, and he will be good.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The fist eventually withdraws entirely from the Asset. He slumps, grateful for his metal arm that keeps him from falling forward, and listens to his panting breaths echo off the tiles. The reward must be done, now. The Handler had said there were no more people. As he wonders whether he should stand, a new person enters the room.

The woman approaches the Handler, ignoring everyone else in the room and delicately sidestepping the small puddles from the Asset’s earlier failure.

“Sir,” she says, and holds out a manila folder, “I have the files you requested.”

The Handler takes the folder without removing his gaze from the Asset. “Thank you, Agent Lochner. You’ve come just in time to finish up our Soldier’s reward.”

Agent Lochner glances at the Asset, and her mouth twists down into a frown. “I’m afraid I can’t exactly give him what he needs,” she says, turning back to the Handler. He smiles at her, and nods at her belt where she has several weapons stored.

“I’m sure you can get creative, Agent Lochner,” the Handler says. “If you need assistance in deciding what to do, I can direct you in what he likes.” She nods once, sharp and obedient.

Then she is turning towards the Asset again, and speaking. “Turn him over,” she says. “I don’t want to look at all that mess on his back.”

“Use your boots,” the Handler adds. “He likes having your hands on him, but when he’s on his back he likes being held down by a nice sturdy pair of boots.”

Several booted feet kick at the Asset’s left side, and he allows himself to tilt gracelessly onto his back. The boots nudge him until he is lying in the cooled puddle of his own semen, then two of the men are crouching by his shoulders to hold him down. He could throw them off easily if he wished, but this is part of his reward. He should be grateful that the Handler has found him someone to continue his reward.

The woman circles him once before swinging one leg across his stomach to straddle him. At the same time, she unclips something from her belt, holding it loosely in one hand. When she is settled over the tops of his thighs, she taps him once with the end of the metal object. “Well, sir,” she says, looking at the Handler, “How does he like it, then?”

“He’s loose enough already that you should be able to just shove it in all the way,” the Handler says. “But do be sure to start it on a low setting. We wouldn’t want to overwhelm him.”

The Asset arches his neck as much as he can to try and see the Handler, but he cannot get the angle right without jostling the hands at his shoulders.

While he is still looking away, he feels the rough slide of something hard and thin shoving into him. It reopens several tears inside him, and he bites down on a whine. The whine becomes a drawn out gasp when he hears the quiet flick of a switch and the object inside him lights up his spine with a soft tingling hum against every bit of flesh that it touches.

A man moves into his line of sight, and a booted foot tips his head forward until he can see Agent Lochner again. Once she sees him watching, she pulls a knife from her belt, next to the empty space where the stun baton had been. “I noticed the scabs, Sir,” she says, gaze moving to the space beyond the Asset where he remembers the Handler standing. “Does he like knives, then?”

There is a smile in the Handler’s voice when he replies. “He adores being made to bleed.” The Asset misses his eyes, which are so much nicer than the dull brown of Agent Lochner’s eyes. “I knew I could count on you to be unafraid of getting your hands dirty.”

She surveys the expanse of the Asset’s chest. A small frown turns down the corners of her mouth, but otherwise she is blank as she traces the knife lightly over the web of scarring at the Asset’s shoulder. Her skin is clear and unblemished, and the Asset feels a wave of revulsion for his own ruined flesh.

“Christ,” a voice says to his side, “seeing Lochner on top of him like that just drives home what an ugly mess ‘e is, don’t it?”

“Hush,” Agent Lochner croons without looking away from the soldier. She slides the knife in a shallow arc along the curve on one rib. “We are professionals, and we do as Hydra asks. This dirty creature is our greatest weapon; is it really such hardship to give him pleasure?”

The panting breaths the Asset cannot contain increase in frequency as Agent Lochner outlines each of his ribs in red. The stinging baton lighting him up from the inside keeps every nerve ending on high alert, heightening the awareness of each strip of red left in the wake of Lochner’s knife. Once every rib is accounted for, she leans forward, bracing herself with one hand on the center of his chest, and slides the flat of the blade over his left cheek, stopping at the corner of his eye.

He thinks she must be able to feel the way his heart rate kicks up at the position of the knife.

“I’m sure he’ll be grateful to you for reopening that scar,” the Handler says. Immediately after, Agent Lochner is flicking the blade up and across his brow, right across the healing mark over his eye. He can feel blood drip towards his hair, but he is glad. He is grateful, as the Handler has said. This knowledge does not stop the involuntary jerk his head makes away from the blade. The man over his head slides his boot along the side of the Asset’s face and forces it back in place. These men are so kind to make sure he does not ruin this special treat.

A few drops of water slide from his eyes to join the blood trickling towards his hair, but he blinks them away. He misses being able to see the Handler.

“I think he wants to fuck you, Agent Lochner,” the Handler says, voice breaking through the fuzzy images running through the Asset’s head.

Agent Lochner draws the knife back down the other side of his face with a grimace, then deposits it in the center of his chest where her hand had rested with a muttered, “At least I’ll have _something_ pretty to look at.” A moment later, she is standing and moving off of him, and he whines at the loss of contact. In spite of the pain from the new cuts, the sparking buzz inside him has had him growing hard again, and her weight on top of him felt surprisingly nice.

Rather than moving away from him, however, Agent Lochner is shedding her pants (though she leaves her boots on – “I don’t want to get my bare feet on _this_ fucking floor”), folding them neatly to lie next to the Asset’s hip, and then she is straddling him once more. She stops on her knees and grips him between the legs, then slides all the way down in one smooth motion, with only a brief baring of her clenched teeth to indicate how it feels. She is dripping wet as she takes the Asset inside her, and he wonders if this is what the others meant earlier, when they called him _as wet as a girl_. He wonders if she has been rewarded recently, or if perhaps that was how the Handler convinced her to participate in the Asset’s reward.

The torn flesh inside him has begun to heal already, and his body has adjusted enough to the intrusion that he can recognize that the stun baton (for that is what it must be, he has finally determined) is pressed solidly up against the nice spot that makes him moan with something other than pain. The constant buzz of the baton, combined with the new feeling of Agent Lochner rocking against him, has him knocking his head back against the tiled floor as a stream of breathless babble pours from his mouth.

Even the burning pain over his ribs falls into the background as he allows himself to get lost in pleasure. He hardly registers when his hips start bucking up to meet Agent Lochner’s thrusts.

Until the Handler’s voice interrupts to say, “I think he’s just about ready, now, Agent Lochner.”

It is a confusing statement, but Agent Lochner seems to understand. She pulls off of the asset and plucks the knife from his chest with delicate fingers. “You’d better be grateful for this,” she snaps at him, before moving to kneel between his legs. At the same time, the men at his shoulders move away. He strains his neck to look at her, but she has her eyes trained on the baton end that protrudes from his body. She is crouched as though ready to leap away and very carefully not touching any part of his skin when she says, “I thought this might be too much for you, but your Handler insisted it is your absolute favorite.”

He hardly has time to process the words before she flicks another switch and his world explodes. Every nerve lights up like stars have been sewn beneath his skin, and he is vaguely aware of cracking the tiles below his metal fist before it abruptly goes dead. His back arches off the floor and he cannot even scream through his clenched teeth. After seconds that stretch like hours, there is a sharp crack and the pain cuts off. The Asset sags loosely against the floor and gulps in air while waiting for the buzzing in his ears to dissipate.

Agent Lochner, who has redressed herself during his spasms, approaches cautiously, but the Asset cannot bring himself to move. When he continues to lay boneless on the floor, she leans down and reaches between his legs to drag out the baton. “Would you look at that,” she says with a strange lilt to her voice like choked down laughter, “he’s cracked it right down the center.”

The Handler’s voice is thick with disapproval when he says, “That was very rude of you to break something we designed especially for you.”

The Asset feels a hot wash of shame roll through him. The feeling deepens when Agent Lochner turns her attention from the broken baton to scan over his body, and he realizes that he has also further dirtied himself by coming all over his stomach and chest when the baton was ramped up to full power. Clearly he loved that part of his reward more than he realized.

“Ugh, look at what a mess he’s made,” Agent Lochner says, smearing the sole of her boot through the come striped across his still bleeding chest. Agent Lochner presses the tip of her boot lightly against one hard nub of flesh, and the Asset gasps, arching weakly under her. “My boots are absolutely filthy, now.”

“He would be happy, I’m sure, to clean them off for you,” the Handler says, and then hands are flipping him back over onto his hands and knees. His left arm spasms as overheated motors whir and grind in an attempt to hold him up after the stun baton nearly fried them. The muscles in the rest of his body continue to tremble and twitch; it is nearly a relief when Agent Lochner, who has come to stand in front of him, tangles a hand in his hair and forces his head down to her red and white splattered boots. For some reason, the colors seem to go well with the blue of the Handler’s eyes.

And of course the Handler is still watching him. “Darling,” he says, “I know you’re tired, but do take your time with this. I’m afraid once your done cleaning Agent Lochner’s boots, it will be time to wrap things up.”

The Asset ignores the feelings that arise at those words, for they cannot be relief. He does not want this reward to end. All the same, he cannot deny the truth of the Handler’s words. He cannot recall many times when he has been so tired before.

Also, his mouth is dry. He wishes he had something to choke on again, so that he could have saliva to assist with cleaning off Agent Lochner’s boots. Instead, he does his best to find the parts most thickly coated with semen and begins licking there. He drags his tongue next in long stripes from toe-tip to heel, tasting the bitter flavor of his come and the metallic tang of his blood. He has to be thorough here at the end of his reward and make it last.

When the tops of both boots are completely clean, Agent Lochner adjusts her stance and rocks back one foot to present the sole for the Asset to clean. He is grateful to her for helping him to prolong his reward, and licks at the red and white streaks with renewed determination. He is disappointed (not relieved, of course not relieved) when he finishes cleaning both boots entirely and there is nowhere else to lick. He stays on his hands and knees when Agent Lochner’s boots shift out of his field of view.

He does not look up until he hears the soft tread of the Handler’s approach. The Handler is watching him with fond blue eyes. The familiarity of the look is startling in its intensity, and he is reminded how much this Handler cares for him. The Handler stops in front of him, putting one hand on his chin to tilt his face up further. He does not seem to care about the mess on the Asset’s skin, not even a flinch betraying the disgust he must surely feel at contact with the Asset. He is a kind Handler.

“You’ve been a very good boy,” the Handler says, still so fond, and the Asset preens.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The Handler removes his hand from the Assets face and holds it out, palm down, for the Asset to take. The Asset’s right hand is trembling slightly, but he does his best to force it into compliance. “Thank you,” he says, kissing the back of the proffered hand.

“You’re welcome, pet,” the Handler says, ruffling the Asset’s filthy hair with his other hand. “I knew you’d enjoy your reward. It’s not me you should be thanking, though.” The hand in his hair tightens, and a whimper slips out. “You should be thanking the ones who gave you your reward. Then you should be thanking me for still being willing to touch a dirty thing like you after how _much_ you enjoyed that.”

The Asset is allowed to turn his head and thank the agents, before most of them depart from the room. When he is left alone with only the Handler and the female agent, he turns back. He must thank his Handler. He is a mess from the Handler’s kindness, but the man cares about him, will never cringe away from him.

“Thank you for still touching me, Steve,” he says, and is blinded for a moment by pain and blood when the unexpected backhand reopens the cut above his eye.

“Steve was your previous owner,” the Handler is saying. “He couldn’t stand to look at you, so you were transferred to me.”

The Asset has made a mistake. He is lucky that this new Handler is so kind. “I apologize, sir.”

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” the Handler says, his hand back in the Asset’s hair. “My name is Alexander Pierce, and I am going to take good care of you.”

The truth of this settles into the Asset’s bones, and he bows his head in understanding while the Handler turns away. “Agent Lochner,” the Handler says, “Clean him up and prep him for storage, but be gentle when you wipe him. I want him to remember today. I think he deserves to keep this reminder of just how much he’s worth.”


	2. A Brief Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place some unspecified number of years after chapter one, but before CA:tWS

The Asset almost failed his mission, and his team are angry with him. They have already completed post-mission procedures and wiped him, so he does not remember the details. He suspects he will be allowed to keep this punishment, however. He thinks that the Secretary who used to be his Handler likes when he remembers this sort of thing.

He is spread out on the floor, panting and dirty with sweat and spit and semen when the door opens and his team finally fall silent.

The men step away from him at the entry of a new form into the room. The man crouches by the Asset’s face and turns the Asset towards him with gentle hands. Through the sticky mess of sweat and drying come on his eyelashes, the Asset recognizes Secretary Alexander Pierce.

Pierce is older every time the Asset sees him. His hair is entirely gray, though the Asset thinks that once it was blond, and his skin droops with wrinkles. He has not been a Handler in years, though he still demands reports from the Asset after every mission in the same commanding voice. The age-spotted hands, too, are still strong, and the eyes have never dimmed from their bright cunning blue.

He thinks that once those eyes reminded him of someone else.

“Did they do this to you as punishment, sweetheart?” the Secretary asks. His voice is gentle, and there is disappointment in his eyes when the Asset nods. Disappointing Alexander Pierce makes shame coil tightly in his gut, and it’s not fair. It wasn’t his fault they chose to punish him like this.

Pierce tsks in disapproval. “Don’t they know how much you enjoy this sort of treatment?” he asks. His eyes remain locked with the Asset, but he speaks loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “It is commendable that they are willing to touch such a dirty little thing in the service of Hydra, but they must not have realized what a treat they were giving you. A treat you haven’t earned, I understand.”

The Asset winces and tries to turn his head away. The grip on his chin tightens. Pierce gives him a second, then drags his head back to regain eye contact, and continues speaking in his soft, calm voice.

“I want you to get cleaned up, pet. I will talk to your team about more appropriate punishments for the future. When you’re clean, I want you to report to me, so that we can discuss what you did today.”

When the grip on his face is released, the Asset nods. He understands.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:
> 
> The Winter Soldier completed his latest mission flawlessly, but somehow also did something to piss Pierce off. Pierce can't punish him outright -- he did his job just fine. So instead he "rewards" him... by commanding a handful of Hydra agents to rape him under Pierce's supervision.
> 
> What I'm really looking for out of this prompt is a fucked up dynamic where Bucky keeps being told he likes this, but he hates it; and meanwhile, the rapists love it, but have been told to act like it disgusts them. The end result is that Bucky thinks he must surely be enjoying this, because Pierce did it to be reward him. Pierce is never wrong. And, furthermore, he's made to feel that he and his pleasure are disgusting to others, and that he's inflicting himself on his rapists. So:
> 
> \+ The Hydra agents complain, grimace, and act like they're fulfilling some gross chore under duress.
> 
> \+ Pierce directs them to do terrible things, all for the asset's 'pleasure.' "See if your fist fits in. Now, I know you don't want to, but he loves it; your job here is to give him his reward, no matter how distasteful."
> 
> \+ Some things the asset does 'like,' as in, they physically feel good, and others are just horrible and painful; but no matter what, he makes sure Pierce knows how grateful he is. He doesn't want to seem unappreciative of what he thinks is intended as a gift. He's so starved for praise and affection that he's desperate even for this.
> 
> \+ Bucky ends up feeling so disgusting that he's grateful Pierce, with whom he is in regular sexual contact, is willing to stoop so low as to have sex with him.
> 
> And:
> 
> ++ if there is room for it I would LOVE to see the post-WS fallout of this somehow


End file.
